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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23285638">Bondage in Boston</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/tillyenna/pseuds/tillyenna'>tillyenna</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Men's Hockey RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Bondage, Dubious Consent, Hazing, M/M, Rookie Year, Subspace, Under-negotiated Kink</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 10:28:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,999</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23285638</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/tillyenna/pseuds/tillyenna</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>I asked: Why doesn't Segs wear underarmour? Like, doesn't that chafe? And then I realised it was probably just like a chest harness... and then my brain got carried away.</p>
<p>So I wrote a fic, about bondage, and segs, and why he doesn't wear underarmour.</p>
<p>PSA: I know NOTHING about the Bruins. Literal actual nothing. I also know nothing about the characters depicted in this fic, so if they're utterly inaccurate that would be why.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>109</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Bondage in Boston</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Huge thanks to alexrothis, who not only Beta'd, but answered my questions about the Bruins, pointed out my glaring errors, and generally makes my life better :D</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Tyler honestly doesn’t mind that the rest of the team chirp him about being hyper all the time. He’s 19, he’s a fucking NHL star, he has the body of a god and can pick up anyone he wants. If they were as young, hot and successful as he is, they probably wouldn’t ever calm down either. So he laughs it off when they make comments about him being the energizer bunny and tells them they wish they were him. He goes out to every team event, whether it’s the whole team, or just an invite to whoever fancies it – he hangs out with his fellow rookies, both those brand new rookies like him, and the other boys who’ve been on the team for a year or so, but are still rookies.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So of course, when they’re invited up to Bergy’s room for some drinking games Tyler goes, dragging Marchy with him. Roadies are boring at the best of times, glorious moments on the ice the only respite between near identical hotel rooms, exhausting planes and uncomfortable coaches – so they break the monotony by playing stupid drinking games in each other’s hotel rooms. Tonight’s game of choice is ‘I’ve never’ and Tyler is winning. There’s some people who’d say that you win at that game by drinking the least – they’re wrong, Tyler is winning because he’s done more kinky shit than some of his much older teammates, and because he is absolutely hammered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As usual, the questions start getting more specific as the game goes on. “Never have I ever been tied up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tyler does a shot, because honestly, if you haven’t had you hands tied to the headboard at least once, he’s pretty sure you’re still technically a virgin. Nobody cares however, because apparently the question was directed at Ference, who smugly passes the bottle to his left.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The fuck?” Bergy is apparently outraged at this.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Andrew shrugs in response.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No.” Patrice is shaking his head. “Because I have seen the amount of rope in your house. You’ve definitely done that shit.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Course I have.” Ference laughs smugly. “I’m just not the one getting tied up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s cat calls from around the room, and a sudden interest from the younger guys.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’ve tied up your mrs?” It’s Marchy who asks, always the bravest of them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ference shrugs, and then, “Had her come to a home game wearing a chest harness under her jersey once.” He’s acting nonchalant, but there’s an element of smug superiority underneath it – he knows his life is good.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The hell?” Krejci asks. “Not even in the bedroom?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ference shrugs again, “Like a chest harness doesn’t restrict movement – just makes them super aware they belong to you – all the time.” The smug grin on his face just grows wider.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We should do that to the rookies,” Bergy laughs. “Tie them up in black and yellow rope – make sure they know who they belong to.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Andrew laughs, “I mean, I don’t have yellow rope – I know you can get some though.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can’t be that hard.” Marchy, confident as always. “Wear some rope under your clothes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The rookies are staring at each other, most of them secretly agree with him, but aren’t wanting to put their necks on the line.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s Shawn Thornton who speaks up, an amused smirk to his voice. “Rookie challenge,” he lays it down. “Whoever keeps the chest harness on the longest wins.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s a few stunned glances in his direction - there aren’t many Bruins who’d suggest hazing their rookies.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?” Thornton has no fear. “We won’t tell Z.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The other vets pass glances between them, and then as one, seem to agree - it’s harmless, and as long as Chara never finds out no-one else will have a problem with it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m so ordering yellow rope for this,” Ference grins.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>This is how the rookies find themselves, at the start of a travel day, lined up in Andrew Ference’s spare bedroom. Most of the rookies were barely able to look Krista in the eye as she welcomed them in, an amused smirk on her face – knowing exactly what the plan was.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tyler has never, ever, had a problem with talking to women. Maybe it’s growing up with sisters, maybe it’s because he’s bi, so not talking to people he found attractive would mean he literally never spoke to anyone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Any tips?” he asks her with a cheeky grin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She laughs, and reaches up to ruffle his short hair. “You’ll be fine rookie,” she gives him an appraising glance before adding, “Besides, I actually enjoy it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He watches, arms folded as the others line up to get adorned with rope, stripping their shirts off one by one. He’s bouncing on the balls of his feet, not nerves, just Tylerness, but he keeps up a running appraisal in Krista’s ear.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think Kampfer might explode,” he says under his breath in her ear.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah?” She raises an eyebrow at him. “Because?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There’s a dude, near his nipples. That’s so gay.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Krista lets out a snort of laughter, covering her mouth with her hand. “Who’s your money on?” she asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Me,” Tyler lets out a derisive snort, “I’m literally better than these fuckers at everything else – no reason why I won’t win at this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She raises a doubtful eyebrow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine,” Tyler rolls his eyes, “Marchy has higher points than me.” He sticks his tongue out at her, “But that doesn’t make him better than me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure it doesn’t kid,” she glances curiously at him, and then, “How old are you anyway?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tyler hates this question. He passes for a lot older than he is, especially since the next youngest guy on the team is over a year older than him, and most of the other rookies are legal drinking age, so no-one bats an eyelid at him. Stupid America and it’s stupid rules. “Nineteen,” he mumbles, staring at the ground, and then, with a flash of a grin, “I’m very mature for my age though.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jesus,” Krista laughs, before calling over to Ference, “Andy, you didn’t tell me you had actual children on your team.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Eh,” Ference shrugs in response, he’s running his fingers along the ropes around Bartkowski’s chest, making sure there aren’t any points where it snags. “It’s just Segs.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not an actual child.” Tyler rolls his eyes. “America is just stupid.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bitter about not being able to drink?” Krista teases him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tyler shrugs, “Just means these lot turn into drunken idiots and I don’t have a problem pulling because I look awesome in comparison.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There are jeers from round the room – although to be fair, it is usually Tyler’s technique. That and waiting until his teammates are drunk enough they don’t notice who he’s sneaking off with so he can pull whoever he feels like, not just limiting himself to one gender.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re cute,” Krista laughs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He tells her about each of the rookies as they get tied into their yellow and black chest harnesses. Ference is nothing if not thorough, he checks the ropes for snags before tying them, he checks the fit, making sure nothing is too tight or too loose. What’s even more impressive is he manages to find different ties, so they all look a little different. Tyler explains to Krista how Marchy is going to be the most stubborn about this, how he thinks Caron or Kampfer will flake out first, McQuaid might do alright, but it’ll come down to him and Marchy in the end. He’s basing this on nothing but their skill on the ice – but in Tyler’s experience, at this level, determination is what counts most, and that’s what’s going to see them through this challenge.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ference gets through Marchy, Kampfer and McQuaid with Tyler’s running commentary quiet in the background before he finally gives in.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shut up for once Segs,” he says. It’s a familiar refrain in the locker room, from all of the vets. “Either be quiet while I tie Caron, or go and wait in the other room, I can’t stand to hear your voice anymore.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Harsh.” Tyler sticks his tongue out at him, and then turns to continue talking to Krista in a slightly quieter whisper.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tyler.” Andrew uses his full name, letting him know he’s upset. “Go wait in the living room.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tyler rolls his eyes, but still goes to wait in the living room as he’s told. Still bouncing on his toes, he wanders round the room staring at the random pictures and ornaments, sticking his nose into whatever he can find.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A few minutes later, Ference calls him back in and tells him to take his shirt off – he obliges, grabbing his t-shirt by the back of his neck and pulling it over his head one handed. He pops it on the floor and goes to stand in front of his older teammate, flashing another grin at Krista before he does.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stop flirting with my wife Segs,” Ference flicks him right in between his eyes, and then loops some rope around his waist.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tyler can’t help but watch his hands as they pass around him, it’s mesmerising. He’d thought there would be a lot more knotting involved, but Andrew simply passes the rope around him, loops it around itself, and with a neat flick is directing it elsewhere. The rhythm of it is nothing short of soothing, passes around his shoulder, through the loop, flick, passes around his waist, through the loop, flick. Occasionally when the tail of the rope flicks it catches him, but it doesn’t hurt, just catches as a little surprise. He zones out watching, utterly fascinated with the way the rope is moving. When Ference has finished, there are three intricate figure of eight patterns running down the middle of his chest, two ropes over each shoulder, five down each side – he wishes there was a mirror so he could see himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ok?” Andrew asks him. “Any snags, anywhere that feels like it’s cutting off blood pressure? Shouldn’t feel any tighter than sock tape anywhere.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tyler shakes his head. “All good S…” he stops himself. “All good.” He reiterates, shaking his head again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Krista says something, but Tyler doesn’t catch what. Andrew grabs the back of his harness and shoves him roughly towards where the others are standing. He might make a noise, he’s not sure. Ference asks him something, but he can’t actually tell what.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tyler?” Andrew snaps his fingers in front of Seguin’s face, watching as he blinks slowly, and then shakes his head, as if he’s trying to clear it. “You ok Segs? Did that hurt?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nope.” Tyler shakes his head slowly. “’m all good.” He nods, and then smiles at Ference, not his usual cheeky flirty grin, but a brilliant wide honest smile. “I’m good.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmm,” Andrew assess him for a moment, and then passes a glance over to Krista. “Thoughts, baby girl?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Keep an eye on that one,” Krista says with a laugh. “That was fast.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Andrew nods in agreement and then, “Shirts back on boys, we’ve got a plane to catch.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tyler on a plane is most of the Bruins’ worst nightmare. He doesn’t sit still, he doesn’t even pick one seat, he just bounces from player to player asking questions, telling them things they really didn’t need to know until they eventually get fed up and tell him to fuck off, at which point, he bounces to the next available victim.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This plane ride is very different. Ference steers Tyler into a seat beside him. “You got a book to read or a movie, kid? Music?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tyler shakes his head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ok.” Ference pulls out a book, “Well I’m gonna read, you let me know if you need anything.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tyler nods, and settles down into his seat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Normally flying makes him feel even more antsy than usual, but this, fuck, this is like having a cuddle, but all the fucking time. The rope makes him feel safe, usually he likes to know that his teammates haven’t forgotten about him – which ok, makes him the neediest fucker on the planet, but every time he shifts, he feels the rope against his skin – Andrew hasn’t forgotten about him, Andrew tied him up and is keeping him safe. He lets out a sigh, and for the first time ever, falls asleep on the plane.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This is fucking uncomfortable,” McQuaid whispers into Marchy’s ear, “I can’t sit right.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know.” Marchy rolls his eyes. “It’s like I can’t sit back, I can’t lean on my side, what the fuck?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s chafing.” Caron chimes in. “Should I tell Ference? Because I feel like we should tell him this stuff.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Where’s Segs at anyway?” Kamfer adds, “Thought we were supposed to be doing this as a team?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Marchy kneels up in his seat. “Weird,” he says, “Segs looks like he’s asleep. Maybe he’s sick.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It is the quietest plane ride the Boston Bruins have had all season.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Andrew shakes Tyler awake, and as he slowly comes to, Tyler realises that he’s just had the most refreshing sleep he’s had in a long time, upright, in a chair, on a plane.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We need to go get on the coach, kid,” Ference informs him. “I want to sit next to Z and have a chat with him, you gonna be ok?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tyler nods. He’s going to be better than ok. He’s going to be awesome. He sits quietly next to Marchy, who’s his usual seatmate anyway. The rookies all tend to sit as a group and chat about stuff on the bus, at least until the older guys throw things at Tyler to make him shut up. Not this bus ride though, Tyler settles into his seat, and lets himself stare out of the window, falling back into the calm feeling of being held. He has to shift occasionally, move so he can feel the rope tug at his skin – it never hurts, just pulls enough to remind him it’s there.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The second they get to the hotel Caron corners Ference. “You said we had to wear it for travelling, can it come off now?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Andrew lets out a bark of laughter. “What do we think Thorty?” he asks Shawn, his clear co-conspirator, “Do the kids get to go free?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Thornton shrugs. “It’s an endurance event,” is his explanation. “But they can choose to drop out at any time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s fucking uncomfortable,” Caron counters. “And I want out. You said we had to wear it for travelling, which we’ve done.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Caron has a point,” McQuaid adds. “We’ve been wearing this shit for hours now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Andrew rolls his eyes. “Fine,” he says. “Follow me to my room and I’ll take it off.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?” Bergy calls out. “Surely the rookies should give us a fashion show first.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ference laughs at that. “Yep, that works” he concludes. “Fashion show in my room, then anyone who wants rid, can have it removed.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So, most of the team are crammed into one tiny hotel room, while the five rookies pull their shirts off. Tyler has to be told to do it three times because he’s too busy staring at the non-descript hotel artwork.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s a proper space cadet today,” Marchy stares in wonder at him. “Did you drug him?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” Andrew answers – he takes a moment to think about how to phrase what he’s about to say, because outing Segs as probably the most submissive person he’s ever met doesn’t seem kind. “Rope affects some people that way,” is all he gives in the end.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There are whistles and jeers as the boys take their shirts off. Although mostly they’re impressed at the tidy ropework, the bodies of their teammates not really impressing them all that much.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Off?” Andrew asks Caron.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The young rookie nods gratefully, and stands patiently while Andrew unties him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can’t I just undo it myself?” Kampfer asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ference laughs, “I mean, you can try.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He continues to untie Caron, coiling the rope carefully as he does, trying not to laugh as Kampfer is trying to reach the knot tied between his shoulder blades. He smooths his hands over the slight marks on the rookie’s skin, checking for any tears in the skin – he knows there won’t be any, but he has a certain standard he likes to keep to.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he’s satisfied, he checks in verbally with Caron, “Better?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Caron shrugs and stretches out his shoulders. “Much. Also your wife is weird, man.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ference shrugs, and glances over at Seguin. “I don’t think she’s the only one.” He wanders over to where Kampfer is still struggling. “Let me help,” he chides softly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kampfer rolls his eyes, but stills so the older man can undo the knots and loops around his torso. He flinches away when Andrew goes to check his skin, but Ference tells him to stop being such a pussy and let him get on with it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Next, Ference calls McQuaid over. “You want free as well?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>McQuaid shrugs, “I mean, if they aren’t keeping it, I don’t see why I have to.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So Andrew goes through the whole careful procedure again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Marchy however, refuses to have his removed. “I thought this was a competition – see who could keep it on the longest,” he says stubbornly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ference rolls his eyes, “I think in that case you win, because I don’t think we should count Segs.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh.” Marchy pauses for a second and then, “Fine. Take it off then.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Andrew checks him carefully, the skin is rubbed a little raw in some places. “Tyler,” he says, quiet authority in his voice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tyler snaps his head towards him, the first time he’s paid attention to anything that was happening.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Grab me my wash bag out of my case. There’s a tube of aloe in there.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tyler nods, happy to be given something to do – and does as he’s told.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I like Segs like this,” Ference admits quietly to Marchy as he smooths the aloe gel over the sore patches of skin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think we all like Segs like this,” Marchy grins at him. “He’s so much less annoying.” The aloe feels cool on his skin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finally, Ference calls Segs over. “Tyler,” he says softly, finger under Tyler’s chin controlling his gaze. “All the other rookies have their rope off now, do you want me to take yours off?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tyler shakes his head frantically. “Please no,” he says, his voice is soft and croaky from disuse.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Few more hours then.” Ference strokes his short hair softly. “Put your shirt back on and you can keep it on during dinner.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They have a quiet dinner, Segs sits with the other rookies, he orders his usual food, but he doesn’t really engage with the conversation unless they ask him specific questions. His brain doesn’t feel as fuzzy as it first had, but he feels calm, safe, held. Usually he has a million thoughts flying through his brain at any one time, but right now, there’s nothing – just peace.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After dinner, Ference calls him back to his room, although most of the others are heading back to their own rooms, either alone or with their roommates, everyone’s tired after the day’s travelling.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I need to take it off now Segs,” Andrew says softly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Please don’t,” Tyler begs him, and then, using the word that’s been on the tip of his tongue all day, “Sir, please.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ference groans softly, runs a hand through his own hair, and then, glancing over Tyler, says reluctantly. “I at least need to check you over, make sure there aren’t any problem points. If it’s all looking ok, you can keep it on overnight,” he glances back at the king sized bed behind him. “Provided you stay here with me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tyler nods, and pulls his shirt over his head. “Thank you,” he says softly. He stands stock still as Andrew checks over each of the twists in the rope, making sure nowhere is rubbing, making sure everything is sitting comfortably and loose enough that it won’t cause him any problems in his sleep.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he’s satisfied, he sends Tyler back to the room he shares with Marchy to get his overnight bag. Tyler thinks Marchy is probably attempting to chirp him about the fact he’s staying the night with Ference, but he honestly doesn’t care, so the chirps are pretty ineffective. When he gets back to Andrew’s room, he’s on the phone to Krista.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Rookie’s back,” he says softly, “Give me a sec.” He turns to Tyler. “Go brush your teeth and change for bed, Segs.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How’s he doing?” Krista asked softly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s been under all day.” Andrew has a note of pure wonder in his voice. “It’s amazing, and kind of scary at the same time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why keep him under then?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” Ference laughs softly, “I’m not even working to keep him there, he’s just there from the rope.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tyler doesn’t listen to their conversation, doesn’t even feel the need to – just brushes his teeth, and strips down to a pair of briefs. He takes a brief moment to look in the full length mirror that is on the bathroom wall. He can’t help but let his fingers trace the edges of the rope, watching as it wraps around him – it’s beautiful.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He thinks he’s only standing there for a minute, but Ference is coming in, finished with his phone call, “Come on, rook,” he says softly, “Stop staring and come to bed.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He lets Ference steer him into bed, not even registering that he’s sharing a bed with one of his teammates – one of his much older teammates, who definitely thinks he’s straight, normally this would have him talking faster than usual, desperately trying to cover up his awkwardness, tonight he just doesn’t care. He snuggles under the covers, grinning at Andrew.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ference reaches out and strokes his thumb across Tyler’s cheekbone. “Go to sleep, kid.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tyler grins at him just once, and does exactly as he’s told.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The next morning, utterly refreshed, he sits next to Andrew at breakfast without even thinking about it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Andrew has a moment of panic when their Captain sits down next to him. “I don’t know what you’ve done to Segs, but I know you’ve done something.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s fine.” Ference assures him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Chara hums thoughtfully. “If this fucks with our game today, it’s on you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Andrew nods, he knows it’s on him. He’ll find a way to bring Segs up the right way before the game. “I’ve got him Z,” he says, more confident than he feels. “I’ve got him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ference sticks close to Tyler all the way to the rink, and then in the locker room follows him over to where his name is stuck to the away room locker stalls. “Rope has to come off now, Segs.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know.” Tyler pulls his shirt off obediently, holds his arms out so Andrew can undo the knots. He watches with a little sadness as the intricate loops get removed from his torso. He can’t help but shiver as Ference rubs his hands over the sore and worn skin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You ok, Segs?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tyler nods, he’s shaking a little, but gritting his teeth, determined to be ok. “Just miss it a little,” he says, trying to find his voice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ference takes a moment to pause and think, and then reaches for Segs’ shoulder pads. “Put these on,” he instructs. “No under armour.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tyler looks at him for a moment, and then does as he’s told. It’s bizarre, having Ference tighten his shoulder pad straps for him, but the tightness feels the same as the rope did, and he can feel himself lifting, feel the pressure and the stress disappearing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There,” Ference grins at him. “Better?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Perfect.” Tyler smiles at him, and then, feeling a little bold, leans forward and presses a kiss to his cheek. “Thanks.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ference shakes his head, and reaches out to run his hand through Segs’ hair one last time. “You did good, kid.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tyler plays his best game to date, and never wears under armour again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
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</p>
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